April, 1977. London, Knockturn Alley.

Since Alya had not yet taken her materialisation and dematerialisation exams, she and Regulus travelled to Knockturn Alley thanks to the Floo Network given to them by Walburga.

One after the other, they entered the green fire inside the hearth of their living room and, with the confidence of one accustomed to travelling by such magical means, they loudly pronounced the name of the shop Regulus wished to visit: Borgin & Burkes.

With a flicker, the two siblings vanished into the tangle of embers and green flames, only to land on the cold stone fireplace inside the shop.
It was the largest and most famous emporium in all of Knockturn Alley, which said a lot about the sinister characteristics of the area. It was a rather cramped and dimly lit shop, looking grim and dirty. The shabby walls were covered with patches of mould, which made the air unpleasant to smell. As soon as Alya emerged from the huge stone chimney, she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Oh, the Black brothers! What a pleasure to have you here, in my humble workshop! Your mother warned me of your visit," cackled a hunched, thin little man with a few greasy hairs covering his head.

It was Mr Sinister, the owner of the shop, who had swiftly reached the mouth of the chimney, ready to give Walburga's children a warm welcome.

It was clear from his manner that he had a certain familiarity with treating his customers with reverence, especially the more affluent ones.
Alya shot him a scornful look, worthy of her mother, nauseated by the overly mellifluous voice with which he had addressed her.

Regulus, on the other hand, answered him detachedly, but politely.

"Good afternoon, Sinister. My sister and I have come here for some shopping."

"Of course, of course. Be my guest. I will be delighted to serve you. Do you already have any idea what you might be interested in?"

"Personally, I'd be interested in purchasing some books of... Dark Magic." Regulus instinctively lowered his voice, as if afraid someone might hear him. But the only one around was Alya, who nevertheless turned up her nose in disappointment. "Something ancient, if possible," the boy added, returning to a normal tone.

"A request worthy of Orion Black's son! Your father also always proved himself to be a passionate intellectual. By the way, how is Mr Black?" squeaked Sinister ecstatically.

"In good health." replied Regulus, quickly.

"I rejoice in that. Mr Black is one of our most valued customers. His knowledge of ancient magic manuscripts is unparalleled. But please follow me. I have just the right set of manuals for you... very valuable stuff, dating back to the early Middle Ages," the rakish shopkeeper rumbled in an increasingly sweet voice.

He pawed towards the counter, gesturing Regulus and Alya to follow him. But the girl refused, raising her hand imperiously.

"You go ahead, Reg. I'd rather have a look around. When you've decided, call me to pay the bill."

The boy nodded and walked behind Sinister, who disappeared into the backroom. Regulus elegantly rested an elbow on the wooden, splintered surface of the counter and waited patiently for the little man to return.

Alya's gaze, meanwhile, wandered distractedly over the articles on display behind tall glass cases.

Beneath thick layers of encrusted dust lay artefacts of all kinds, each with a macabre story to tell: doll heads possessed by demons of the lowest degree, ropes for hanging, cruets containing the blood of unclean creatures, cursed jewellery, sharp instruments for torture and so on.

With gloomy curiosity, Alya observed the iridescent features of a splendid necklace studded with opals. The tag underneath announced the fatal curse it was imbued with. As far as it was written, some twenty Muggle women had met their deaths wearing it.
With glacial indifference, the girl went on, reviewing all the other creepy objects that adorned the shelves, which were crawling with woodworms and invaded by vast cobwebs.

Suddenly, a glow caught Alya's attention.

In the middle of a shelf, towering solitarily on a clawed ivory pedestal was a curious dark disc, polished to perfection, as black and shiny as the waters of Hogwarts' lake in the dark night.

Alya moved closer to study it better: the smooth, dense dark surface faithfully captured everything that flashed before her. The girl read the name of the round object on the tag placed beside it: OBSIDIAN MIRROR.

Alya's eyes shone with surprise and victory. She ran to the counter where the hunchbacked Sinister, now resurfaced from the dusty depths of the backroom, was smugly displaying his collection of Dark Magic manuscripts to Regulus.

"Is the obsidian mirror for sale?" she asked, somewhat brusquely.

"Of course, Miss!" squeaked Sinister cheerfully, eager to win over another buyer. "Everything in this shop is for sale."

"Great! And do you also sell raw amethyst stones, white candles and moon dust incense by any chance?" the girl questioned him, insistent.

Sinister nodded, a little dazed by all those requests.

"Perfect, I'll buy them then. And don't forget the obsidian mirror," ordered young Black, haughtily, as the hunchbacked little man disappeared a second time into the back room.

Regulus raised his eyes for a moment from the ancient leather book in his hands and looked at Alya in puzzlement.

"But what are you going to do with all that stuff?"

"An experiment," she replied vaguely.

The boy curled his mouth unconvinced, nevertheless returning to contemplate the old pages of the book. The medieval spells of Dark Magic intrigued him far more than his sister's harebrained gimmicks.

When the owner of the emporium returned to the counter with the items requested by his customer, Alya ordered everything to be wrapped, including the manuscript her brother had chosen, and asked for the bill.

And with their arms weighed down by the bags and purses lightened by many galleons, Alya and Regulus then returned to Grimmauld Place number twelve, through the passage of the shop's huge stone fireplace.

As she swirled in the green flames, Alya was pleased to note how, sometimes, solutions can be found in the most unexpected places.

***

Alya decided to perform the ritual that very evening.

After wishing the rest of the family and Kreacher a good night, she quickly disappeared into her room.

She placed both the incense and the rough amethyst stone on the bedside table, and the ivory pedestal in the centre, ready to receive the obsidian mirror after using it in the first phase of the ritual. Together with the three objects, a long white candle that Alya had bought from Borgin & Burkes stood out in a golden glass that acted as a wax collector.

She lit it and a dim light ignited the contours of the sumptuous headboard. Alya sat down between the freshly pulled covers, the obsidian mirror in her hands. She lifted it to face level and remained motionless, observing it. The image of her face revealed itself to her at the exact instant her grey eyes rested on the black surface. With the complicity of the sizzle of the candle flame, the reflection seemed to be swimming in the abysses of waters as dark and dense as oil.
Alya recognised her own features, but looked at them cautiously, almost frightened, as if they were not really hers. She sensed slight alterations, imperceptible from a physical point of view. It was more of a feeling. The feeling that the girl who returned her gaze on the other side of the mirror was not her, but a copy of her that had emerged from the dark depths of her spirit.

Alya felt a sense of oblivion, of being suspended between several dimensions. She was in Grimmauld Place and at the same time she was elsewhere. She was wandering in the unknown.

Restless, her heartbeat began to accelerate. But Alya could be stubborn and refused to look away, despite the vague terror that suddenly pierced her. The dense movements of the obsidian changed shape: they no longer appeared as the tumultuous waves of a mass of black water.
The girl's face now seemed immersed in a hazy blanket, slowly unravelling in the air. Alya's heart sank. Although there was nothing but her own reflection in the smooth surface of the mirror, the girl thought she glimpsed, in the fraction of a second, a fragment of another world, which nonetheless had a familiar hint.

It was at that precise moment that the three minutes stipulated by the ritual ceased and Alya was forced to interrupt the practice. The girl shook off the inexplicable sensations awakened by the dark obsidian mirror. She placed it on the clawed pedestal, grasped the incense stick, dipped one end into the candle flame and gently waved it in the air, as if to spread the fragrant fumes of the incense over everything around her, starting with the bed.

An acrid yet pleasant fragrance invaded both the room and Alya's nostrils copiously. She placed the stick in the censer holder and lay down, leaving the candle burning, as the ritual suggested. Although no other objects beyond those indicated were to be used, for safety, the maiden had placed on the pillow beside her the porcelain doll with blond ringlets, the same one that Merope also possessed. It represented the bond that had always united them.

Alya closed her eyes and waited to fall asleep.

The perception of wandering at the edge of the world had not yet left her and for a moment she was even pervaded by a sense of vertigo.

Without realising it, young Black slipped into a state of semi-consciousness. Apparently, it was as if she were asleep, but Alya sensed things very clearly. She was as alert as awake, her eyes wide open.

For a while she floated in the sea of oblivion, in that place where reality and dreams merge and blur.

Then, Alya recognised the familiar movements of the contours that suddenly took shape, consistency.

Suddenly, she was certain that she was no longer in Grimmauld Place number twelve. At least, not in spirit. She now lingered in front of a rickety wooden door, from which dangled rotting what was left of a small snake's corpse.

Alya promptly plugged her nose, trying in vain to defend herself from the unmistakable sweetish stench of putrefaction. She quickly crossed the threshold, finding herself with little emotion in the fetid dive where Merope lived.

Everything seemed unchanged. The living room, the cramped kitchen, the bare, battered furniture that furnished the interior. Nothing seemed to have changed one iota.

However, Alya immediately felt the heavy sense of absence that hung over the hovel. The silence itself seemed to be thicker than usual.

Alya immediately ran to Merope's room, already aware of who she would not find. And indeed, of her dream friend there was no trace. A bare, unmade bed, left to itself, was the only protagonist of what Alya saw as she crossed the room's threshold. On the bedside table still lay the remains of an almost completely consumed candle, whose melted and then congealed wax encrusted the cover of the Potions book which Alya had noticed during her last dream with Merope.

Alya bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying. How many times had she sat on that cot, next to her dream friend chatting, consoling, confiding.

"Merope." she whispered in Parseltongue, invoking the name like a plea.

But no one answered.

Merope was no longer there, she was gone.

And Alya had no idea where she could be or how to reach her.
The affliction became unbearable and the girl abandoned herself to silent tears that ran down her cheeks.

Then, something happened.

It was like being sucked into a giant funnel. A bit like what happened to her with Floo Network, but much more violently.

Alya whirled around and no longer knew where she was.

Confusing images appeared quickly before her eyes, like disjointed pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

For a moment, she seemed to catch a glimpse of Merope's profile emerging from the tangle of shadows that ensnared her. Her appearance was even more bleak and ragged than she remembered. Alya read the despair in her friend's expression. She tried to call her, to shout her name, but she did not hear her. Mute words were all the young Black could utter.

A new disquiet seized her when Alya realised where she was. She had visited it herself a few hours earlier. It was Borgin & Burkes, Sinister's dismal shop. The same, totally the same. Only the owner was somewhat different, with fewer years streaking his face and more greasy hair covering his head.

Merope stood in front of him, clinging to the wooden counter, in tears. She seemed to plead with him, while the shopkeeper contemplated with malignant greed in his eyes a picture locket that Alya recognised instantly. It was Salazar Slytherin's locket.

Alya struggled to understand what the two figures were saying to each other, but it was impossible. The sounds came to her garbled, tangled, muffled.

There was another sudden push, and Alya again had the unpleasant sensation of being sucked backwards. The arms of an unknown darkness climbed over her body and pulled her far away, somewhere else, into another time.Alya reappeared in a completely unknown place, never seen before. The façade of an enormous palace loomed up before her dismayed eyes, behind a bristling, prickly gate devoured by rust. Despite the imperious structure, the shabby walls betrayed its state of neglect and poverty.

Now the sounds came to her with all too much violence.

Heartrending screams, filled with despair, rose from the grey, unknown building. Alya shuddered, recognising Merope's voice, although she could not see it.

Helpless, she strongly felt her friend's pain. A physical, visceral pain that suddenly became her own. It crept into Alya's body and she was shaken by spasms and sobs.

A final tug pulled her safe from that invisible, but rending grip.

Alya suddenly opened her eyes.

Sweating from head to toe, feeling nauseous and invaded by shivers of terror, she cautiously regained awareness of where she was.She was back in Grimmauld Place.

With her eyes misty with tears, which had not spared her even for a second on that painful journey, the maiden turned her gaze to the bedside table.

The porcelain doll had fallen to the floor. The candle, despite the barred window and the absence of any draft, had gone out.

Only an empty darkness hovered around her.